


red, the color of the fallen angel

by octobercafe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Minor Combeferre/Courfeyrac, catch me over here taking the angst train to sadville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octobercafe/pseuds/octobercafe
Summary: It's been exactly one year since the sun set on Grantaire's life.





	red, the color of the fallen angel

“ _Hey R, It’s Enjolras. I’m just calling to remind you to take out the trash, feed Patria, and make an actual dinner for once—not just vodka and cereal. The meeting went fairly well, Courfeyrac kept making eye contact with Combeferre and winking, Bossuet spilled coffee over his papers, Prouvaire had a side conversation with Feuilly about flower symbolism… You know, the usual. Anyway, I’ll see you soon. I love—”_

The ‘you’ doesn’t come. It never does. Yet Grantaire can’t help hoping, desperately hoping, that maybe someday Enjolras will finish his sentence. Maybe someday his Apollo will return. Maybe this has all been a horrible nightmare, and maybe the car crash never happened.

But if it was a dream, then Grantaire hasn’t been able to wake up for a year and a half. As it is, he’s not even sure if he could call his current state of being “awake”. Sure, the world goes on around him, yet it’s as if all the color has been drained from his sight.

Grantaire sighs, and puts his phone down. He’s saved the voicemail, uploaded the audio to both his computer and his cell phone, so that he can still hear Enjolras’ voice, still pretend that he’ll see him soon, still pretend that they’re happy once again.

A meow distracts him, and he sees Patria enter the living room. The cat has grown older and weaker, and seems to have a perpetual limp, yet she’s one of Grantaire’s greatest comforts. He still remembers the day that Enjolras and him had picked her out from the humane society, just a small white kitten with fluffy hair and shockingly blue eyes, just like Enjolras’. He still remember how Enjolras practically lit up when he saw her, and turned to Grantaire with a grin on his face.

_“Let’s name her Patria,”_ he had said. He hadn’t asked if they could get her, hadn’t even paused to see the other cats. But Grantaire didn’t care. As long as Enjolras was happy, then Grantaire could find a way to see the light as well. After all, Enjolras was his sun and Grantaire loved him very, very much.

He still loves him, of course. Still thinks of him constantly. Still hears his voice at night. Still sees him in his dreams. Still presses play on the voicemail that Enjolras had sent him before the crash. Oh, he plays that audio day after day.

Patria meows again, and jumps into his lap. Her eyes are the same color as Enjolras’, and Grantaire can’t help but be reminded of Enjolras whenever he sees the cat.

“Hey Pat.” He strokes her fur, and gives her a bittersweet smile. “Enjolras should be home soon, okay? I’ll get you some food, then make myself some dinner. Our Apollo says that vodka and cereal don’t count as a proper meal, so I think that I’ll have to heat up some pizza.”

The cat perks up at Enjolras’ name, and Grantaire feels a pang of sorrow. He’s fairly sure that she knows that Enjolras is never coming home, that the blonde with his blue eyes and his fierce sense of justice will never be able to stroke her perfect, soft fur again.

He scratches her chin, and when Patria purrs, Grantaire is reminded of just how grateful he is to have her. Most of his friends had moved away after Enjolras’ death, though Jehan had stayed and started a greenhouse and Courfeyrac and Combeferre had gotten married.

Their wedding was incredibly bittersweet, as there was the happiness that comes with marriage but also the sorrow that comes from losing a close friend. Grantaire had brought one of his framed pictures of Enjolras and set it on the chair beside him, so that they could all pretend that he was still there, that he was still alive, that he hadn’t been killed by a semi-truck going much faster than the speed limit allowed.

Grantaire saw Courfeyrac and Combeferre a couple times a month, but it was different. They were _together_ , much like he and Enjolras had been. He saw Jehan a bit more often, and went by his greenhouse frequently to pick up roses, Enjolras’ favorite flower.

Today was especially difficult. Grantaire had woken up, blinked open his eyes to find Patria staring at him with a sense of urgency in her piercingly blue gaze. He had checked his phone, and had promptly dropped it.

Today was _the day_ , the day that the sunlight was removed from Grantaire’s life. December 18th. Exactly one week before Christmas. And at 4:45 PM it would be exactly the time that Enjolras had left his final voicemail to Grantaire.

His friends had sent him messages, and Jehan had sent a bouquet of roses to his doorstep with a note that simply said “red, the color of the fallen angel”.

The day had crept on slowly, and Grantaire had played the voicemail time after time after time. At first he was determined not to cry, but after the third time of hearing Enjolras’ perfect voice say, “Hey R, It’s Enjolras,” Grantaire couldn’t hold back his tears.

He had cried, and cried, and cried, until it felt like there were no more tears in his body, yet even then he had cried some more.

Grantaire shakes his head, and draws himself back into the present. He fills up Patria’s dish with cat food, and opens the refrigerator to pull out some leftover pizza. Not bothering to heat it up, he sits at the counter and takes a bite.

It tastes like cardboard, and he’s not sure whether that speaks toward the quality of the pizza or toward his emotional state of being. Either way, it’s food and Grantaire knows that he should eat, even though he doesn’t feel hungry. He doesn’t feel much of anything, in fact, except from sorrow and bittersweet remembrance.

He finishes the pizza, and just as he places the plate in the sink he hears a knock on the door. It’s two sharp raps, just like how Enjolras used to knock. Grantaire scrambles to the door, wrenching it open to find no one standing there.

A wave of disappointment washes over him before he sees a small letter with an “R” in cursive handwriting printed over the envelope. He bends over to pick it up, running his hands over the cream colored paper and opening it.

There’s nothing inside it except a torn red piece of fabric, the exact same color as Enjolras’ favorite jacket used to be.

And Grantaire is crying again. He’s sobbing, desperately sobbing, clutching the shred of red fabric close to his chest. He doesn’t know how it got there, doesn’t know who delivered it, doesn’t know what he’ll do now.

All he knows is that for the first time since his sun set, he can see color.

**Author's Note:**

> this hurt to write but i hope you all enjoy it


End file.
